I am writing you this fine, sunny afternoon to finally tell you how I feel about you. Many hot summers and many frozen winters have passed since I first saw you; it was a warm early spring day, just like today, when the big yellow moving truck pulled into the driveway of the house down the street, the sunlight glinting off of its clean, spotless windows. I was watching from the corner as you got out of the truck. You were wearing extremely short shorts which flattered your long and tan legs and a tiny blue-sleeved baseball shirt that exposed your golden washboard stomach. A big blue "1" rested in the valley between your two small, perky breasts. Your jet black hair reflected the sunlight and your eyes...oh, even though I was so far away, my attention was still ensnared by them; they were dark and wide, indicating you had at least a partial Asian heritage. When your parents arrived later I indeed found that my assumption was correct, your father Japanese and your mother Anglo-Saxon. Ever since that glorious day you have captivated me; I have thought of little else since you arrived into my neighborhood...and my dreams.
I find you absolutely beautiful, Meredith - perhaps the most beautiful female specimen I've ever encountered. Ever since that day you moved in I have been watching you, admiring you from afar - not very far away, though, sometimes. I'd made it a point to learn your schedule, when you come and when you go, to take advantage of every opportunity available to bask in your presence, your glory, like as if you're the sun and I'm in dire need of a tan. I make sure I take out my trash the same time you do. I changed my schedule at work so I leave and arrive home precisely when you do. On the weekends, though, your itinerary varies; you certainly enjoy yourself, going out with friends...you often return quite intoxicated. You're cute when you're drunk, though, the way you laugh, smile, and even stumble captivates me. I make sure I sit outside in my yard on Friday and Saturday nights, in the dark, waiting for you to get home since I never know when exactly it will be. I remember one night a few months after you'd moved in you were dropped off by a silver sporty car full of laughing people. Before they sped away you said your goodbye, your cheerful wide mouth and your big white teeth giggling back at them as you did so. One of the straps of your hot little red dress lazily fell off your milky shoulder as you waved. Without much grace, you meandered up your sidewalk to your front door and disappeared into your house. I crept around your house, looking at the windows, following you as you turned on and turned off lights, until the light stayed on in a window in the back. I discovered something.
What I found was your bedroom, and that its window faces that small wooded area behind your house. It's very dark back there, no houses for many lots on the other side of the bushes. You never cared to put any dressings on your window, something I decided to take advantage of. As I hid in the bushes, I watched you stumble around your room in a very cute and endearing way, tossing your purse to one side, your shoes to the other. My heart began pounding as you began to slowly peel off your dress. I could not believe this beautiful girl I had been admiring was now undressing right before my eyes, revealing something to me only gods and your lovers see. Your breasts were like little grapefruits with large reddish brown nipples in the middle of them. Your pubic area was shaved into a little dark strip. It must be strange to hear your own private areas described to you in such detail. It is not something we often hear, perhaps only in unusual circumstances like this. Hearing an objective description of them is rare indeed, which begs the question: do any of us appreciate the beauty and elegance of our own private areas, could we describe them accurately to somebody if forced to do so?
But let's not go off on a philosophical tangent. Back to the matter at hand. After that night I began going into those bushes at night, waiting, watching you...no, I don't consider myself a peeping tom. It's not anything perverse. I simply wanted to learn more about you because I had realized that the thing I wanted more than anything else on the planet is your love and wouldn't know as much about you as I can be the perfect way to earn that? I have learned so much: for instance, you prefer to shower at night as opposed to in the morning like most folks do. And you like to play music loudly from your stereo in your bedroom when you're showering, presumably so you can hear it. You should purchase a shower radio. But because of that I have gotten to know your music tastes. I have never met anybody but myself who liked to listen to Stanton Moore on a regular basis. Same goes for Charlie Hunter and Bela Fleck. I appreciate how eclectic your music tastes are. You must be playing MP3s from your computer sometimes because one song will be by Shania Twain, the next will be Eminem, and then both are followed up by Aerosmith. That music sense you have makes you such an interesting person, Meredith! Intriguing, even. Don't you see why I would have such interest in you?
After about a year or so of watching you come and go, watching you in your bedroom dressing, undressing, dancing to music, talking on your cellular phone, I realized that you were almost always alone. There will be a night here or there where you bring home an attractive young man, hopelessly ensnared by your beauty and ravenous desire. Maybe they don't come back because you scratch and bite them while you make love to them (and your screams wake the neighborhood dogs -- I almost laugh when the dogs begin howling after you climax). But that is something I think I'd rather like. I would be back. The point I'm making is, it seems that you are waiting for something. You are searching for somebody, maybe that perfect somebody, not letting anybody else get close to you. That became clearly evident the night you brought home a woman. Remember that tall, pale redhead? Of course you do. Perhaps after not finding what you wanted in men, you decided to try something different. It started out as laughing and talking and flirting, but my heart raced for you as I watched you nervously let her explore your body and strip your black dress off. It drove me mad when you moved out of the window where I could no longer see what you were doing. As if your quirky music tastes and loner lifestyle weren't evidence enough, this more than anything told me that you weren't like the other girls. No, certainly not. You are different. You are special. Maybe that somebody you're looking for is me.
I became bolder, more daring. I could scarcely believe that it was me who slid a credit card between your front door and its frame one night while you weren't home. I couldn't believe it when I found myself opening it and creeping inside. (You really should get a deadbolt, by the way.) You see, I needed to find out even more about you, maybe find letters, or read emails on your computer. I had to know your secrets, your most guarded desires. I needed to understand you on a deeper level! Why were you almost always alone? Did you enjoy making love to that woman? Were you straight, bisexual, or just bicurious? What are you waiting for, Meredith Cho? More importantly, who are you waiting for? Even though you don't know it, I think it is me.
After some rummaging in your disorganized piles of mail, finding only bills and credit card solicitations, I walked down the hall toward your bedroom. My heart began pounding in my chest and head, blood raced through my arteries and veins as I made my way to your bedroom door. It creaked a little as I opened it. Immediately I smelled you, or, the perfume you often wear. I closed my eyes for a second, sucking that sweet bouquet into my soul, but then I jumped and almost had a heart attack as headlights flooded the house through the windows, but it turned out to just be a passing truck. After that I spied your computer, your screen saver set to the meandering 3D multicolored pipes. I crept up to it and moved the mouse, bringing your sky blue desktop to life. I opened your Outlook Express and, as luck would have it, I needed no password to see your emails. You had quite a lot of spam and hundreds of read emails still in your inbox, you email pack rat! There were several emails from men. "Why don't you call me back?" "I had a fun time, what's going on with you?" "Sorry, that scratch became infected, I don't know if I can see you any longer..." After dozens of those, I came across the email I was looking for, from that girl:
From: Rebecca Chase (email@example.com)
And then the email began blathering about some boring details of her life, but that email confirmed what I had felt about you, that you were searching, on a seemingly never-ending quest for love, somebody to love. I'll be that for you. I'm meant to be that for you. We were meant for each other, our souls formed from the same cloud of ether. I decided right then and there, as I quietly left your house, that I would do whatever it takes to bring you to me, where you belong. You see, you no longer have to look, you no longer have to hurt inside. I will satisfy your every need, every desire, no matter how insatiable.
I had a fun time Saturday night. It's been a long time since I got to teach somebody so much. Are you sure you're straight, cuz even though you were nervous at first you sure were good. You're very talented with your mouth :D. The way we just laid there and talked for an hour afterward was better than the sex. That was sad about your doggy.:( someday you'll find the man...or woman of your dreams. Just gotta keep looking. S/he's out there. I also know what it's like to put on a happy face when you're really hurting inside...
I hope this letter doesn't scare you too much, or disturb you. I mainly wanted to tell you how I feel so you knew, be completely honest with you because that is what every new relationship should be founded on. You're not like the other girls, and we should be together because I'm not, either. You think Rebecca showed you a good time? Wait until you meet me. And if you would like to do that, look out your window right now, as I will no doubt be watching you as you read this letter. You almost always run to your bedroom to read letters you receive in the mail. Look out between the two big green bushes at the very back of your lawn. See me smiling?
With unending love,
your neighbor Tammy